When Battle Comes
by Sjarken
Summary: A knight's deed is his own, and when the deed comes to pass, one must be ready.


_**A/N:**__ So, after reading a few fics on the site, I have determined that some of you seem to not appreciate writing fight scenes! I don't know why, but I see that some people write them overly flashy, with completely over the top moves and segments that simply make me question why they do it. Some seem insecure about it and write in overly long or short sentences that seem to indicate that they doubt themselves when writing. _

_Now, I'm not pissing on anyone here. I am but a writer myself, and I think that every writer has his own style. NOBODY should criticize style! That is for the writer himself to do. However, if someone finds me to have a good point here, feel free to PM me! Who knows, maybe it'll be a good way for me to get to know some people on the site! I always seek social intercourse (_don't take that up the WRONG way ;)_) with people, and talking about Souls is an awesome way of starting! _

_And as a new member of the site, don't treat me like one! Feel free to give your critique and constructive feedback on my writing, BUT be ready for that I might answer with my own opinion etc. _

_NOW, this part is serious! The parts in this story that are in italics are for __mature__ readers. As I am noticing, this page's M section doesn't get a whole load of attention, so I'm giving it a T rating, but I'm warning people with a faint of heart to stay away from the sloped text after the three dots! _

_Anyhow, please enjoy! _

…

When battle comes, one must be ready. The key to getting the reflexes every dancer wished for, the balance every duelist desired, and the fearlessness of a raging bull, is thinking. Not during the battle, but before the battle. Thinking outside your battles prepares you, so when you are in the fight itself, you don't have to think. Everything just feels natural. It's strange how a man evolves to the point where plunging a sword into someone's gut, all the way to the hilt, feels natural. It's rather fucked up to be honest.

Especially when you're on a battlefield, surging through an army of demons that are trying to smash you into the ground like a rusted nail on a brand new plank. Of course, some are just trying to cut your head off with a two meter machete too. They're not all the same. Demons are not to be judged.

Demented bastards as they are. They know two things: How to kill, how to not be killed. They only know when to dodge and when to strike. And that makes them so dangerous. Any shred of humanity makes you weak! It gives you a bunch of annoying values that a human must have, like family, friends, happiness. But it always seems to give it to you at JUST THAT MOMENT, when you need to react quickly. Crusader Dargarion had felt this many times, but not for the last three years. The reason? He had prepared himself. Before becoming a knight, he had secretly murdered his wife! Why? It is obvious. He can't be thinking about their nightly activities when a machete is two inches from his face. Sure, it may seem be a bit extreme by some standards, and it sort of makes him feel a bit bad when he remembers that day when he performed the kill, but what came out of it was a prominent killer who could strike down any beast, general or king he encountered.

He still remembers the day…

…

_They had gotten a nice house by a beautiful lake. They had servants to do their homely deeds, and all seemed too perfect for the handsome knight who lived there with his beautiful wife. The knight was in his thirties, while the wife was mid-twenties. They had been married for five years, and they expressed their happiness every time they met. However, the man seemed reluctant to have kids. The wife did not know, but if she had, she would've ran away, as far as she could. Because the reason was that he was planning to murder everyone in the house. The man had realised what was keeping him down in combat. What it was that made him doubt himself just as he raised his shield, or his sword. What it was that made him unable to be one step ahead of his opponents. He was too _human.

_The battlefield is no place for humans. Humans have regrets, a conscience, and they doubt themselves. In the battlefield, you need only yourself. But humans have others. They have their family, they have wives, some have kids, maybe even servants that they care about. There is a reason as to why writers make up characters that have all those things and are still prominent generals: they don't exist. A war general needs no one to care about but himself. How would he else be able to direct one of his squads into certain death? Their death might bring victory to the army, but one must be able to disguise it for them. They need to not know that they are going to die, and the general must be the one to tell them a simple lie: You will not die. However, to do this, the general must be a stone-cold, heartless son of a bitch. But nobody will know that when all but one squad return happily to their families, while celebrating a victory that could only be achieved through the bravery and cleverness of their general. Not a single one of them knows what the general really meant when he told a few of them to go 'flank them from that angle', or 'pursue them through the cliff'. Only the general knows. The general knows what he said. And he said: __**"Go there, and die. Then we will come in and kill them, but your memory will be covered over as an unfortunate loss."**_ _Absolute genius, isn't it?_

_So, back to our family in their big house again. The husband is watching his wife do the dishes in the pond near their house. He is simply waiting for his moment to strike. He knows that he can't use a weapon to kill her, as the wound will be noticed on her body, or they might spot him cleaning his sword one day. Then they will think: _Hmmm, it's been ages since sir Dargarion has been in combat. Why is he cleaning his sword now? I saw him clean it a few days ago! _If they then hear of his wife's murder, it wouldn't be long until some of them put two and two together and realised the murder. So that meant he had to get his hands dirty. He looks to her, then the small boat they have tied to their little dock. There was an island in the middle of the lake their house was by. That is where he would kill her. _

_He walked up to his wife, looking as husbandly as ever. "Talia, my dear, shouldn't we take a break from our duties? We have servants to do them, anyway!" She looked up at him with a concerned look. He promptly continued: "I was thinking maybe you and I should take our boat to the island in the middle of the lake. We missed our private times together, so I thought we should reclaim them!"_ _She broke into a smile, completely ignorant of the horrors she was about to experience. "I agree, dear Dargarion. We really should go for a little trip out. Should I make some food?" He answered immediately: "No." He winked playfully at her. "We won't need food." Her young and ever-beautiful face smiled even wider, and she immediately rose to get into their boat. He followed suit, grabbing the oars, and started rowing calmly, tensing inside as he did. How did he allow himself to grow so cold? He was planning to murder his love? But when he thought of it, he didn't really love her no more. He just liked to pretend. And then she was nothing but a distraction. In reality, he actually thought that he would find more pleasure in killing her slowly than fucking her at night. _

_He observed her one last time. She was wearing a beautiful blue dress, which stood in a nice contrast to the free-flowing brown hair. Her face was rounded, but her chin was slightly pointier, which made for a nice balance. Her body was still aging, but still perfect nonetheless. He absolutely couldn't wait to be rid of her. He lived for the battlefield, and she was a distraction. Therefore she was of no worth._

_However, he still played his role well, even helping her off the boat as she entered the small island in the lake. The island had a beach encircling it all, with a small forest in the middle. He was planning to kill her in there. Least risk of being seen, you know?_

_He slowly led her into the forest, carefully stepping over rocks and grass, as in his usual manner. He didn't want to make her suspicious now, did he? Now that he'd come so far! It was when they got to a small clearing in the forest that he thought about making his move. And just as he stepped over a rock, he did. His wife only reached opening her mouth, uttering a few words: "Where are we going, my love?"… before his gauntlet-wearing hand closed around her throat. He quickly started lifting her into the air with his brute strength, enjoying every moment as he started to squeeze the life out of the woman, or rather, girl who loved him. However, she wasn't as weak as he thought, and she soon landed a good kick in his face. Her feet touched the ground, and she immediately grabbed the rock that he had walked over, and smashed it into his ribs. His leather armor took the brunt however, and she hadn't reached running before he was on her heels again. She didn't look behind her, fear gripping her entire chest as she leapt into the boat to try and row away, since she believed that he couldn't swim. It was the only way she would survive this encounter. _

_However, it was a stupid move. By the time she had gotten one hand on the boat's railing, she felt her husband's hand come under her shoulder and close around her throat again. She managed to scream to him: "Why are you doing this?!" His answer shocked her for the rest of her life; the entire minute of it: "Stop screaming, my love. You might scare the crabs that will feast on your body." He then pulled her out of the boat, then walked until they were knee-high in the water, before turning her around to face him, and forcing her under. One hand still on her throat, the other on her shoulder, she had no chance at fighting him off. He was a head taller than her, could lift almost twice his own weight, and he weighed almost twice as much as her. So she had no spirit to fight as he pushed her under the bitter water, and practically buried her in the sand. She still threw some weak swings at him, which was almost impossible with her right hand due to it being caught under the boat. Her left hand was hindered by his arm on her shoulder. But, as with everyone, she still started to throw hysteric swings at him when her air supply was cut short. She tried to kick him, but the water made them powerless. When he finally sat down on his knees, blocking her legs, she knew that she had no chance. _

_Ten seconds passed. Twenty. And still that desperately terrified face didn't wipe off her. He didn't let go of her before almost two minutes had passed. He had prepared for a wave of terrifying guilt to come over him, but it didn't. He felt nothing. That almost terrified him more._

…

He doesn't remember the other murders that well. But, if he remembered correctly, he stabbed one of the male servants, hid the knife, then choked the other. He then battered one of the maids, before bashing another's head into a window. He then impaled her on the glass. Then it just turned into a plain massacre. He brought out his sword, which was decorated with a gold trim on the leather hilt, as well as golden inscriptions on the steel blade. The sheath was a brown leather with gold around its mouth and bottom, and it hung on his back. He remembered carving up the last male servant, before chopping off one of the maid's head, until one of them threw a pie at him. As she had dirtied his sword, which was his most precious on the battlefield, she would die in a horribly horrible way. He tied her to a chair, before bringing out his pissing pot. He peed in it, and told her to lick it clean. When she refused with gasping breaths, he simply put her face into it until the breaths stopped. That's what she got for dirtying his beautiful sword. That's how the king should punish sinners, actually.

Anyhow, all of this has now made him an unparallelled fighter. All he serves is his kingdom, and he is willing to die for its magnificence. The memories don't haunt him, they pleasure him. He finds pride in that he could do what no other knight could do, and that he is now a more valuable asset for it. And he ENJOYS the battlefield, more than any other.

Crusader Dargarion cuts down a small demon, before charging towards one of the bigger ones. The one he is going for is almost two heads taller than him, wielding two huge machetes that can easily rip through his armor. But not through his guard. The head of the demon is that of a goat, looking more menacing to the average knight than one would expect. Its skin is leathery and purple in color, with various spots of black.

Dargarion just can't wait to kill the bastard. He charges in, not haulting as the demon notices his approach. He marginally dodges a downward swing from the axe of a demon which was definitely trying to plunge him through the whole world. The axe buries itself behind him, and he charges off as the demon is distracted by another knight.

The goat demon readies for their battle, and raises both its machetes. After judging their distance briefly, it leaps forward, looking to take both his arms off. Dargarion sidesteps the monstrous swing, before closing the distance between them. However, the demon is clever, and doesn't try to retreat. Instead, it simply gathers all its strength, before pulling both its machetes out of the dirt. Crusader Dargarion is momentarily stunned by the sheer power of the blades flying by his side, and by the dirt and stone flying into his gilded armor, so he decides to take a step back. Doing so, he notices that the demon does not press the attack. _Maybe it wants to enjoy the duel! _Dargarion thinks nonchalantly, before pressing his own attack. While starting a flurry of swipes with his six-foot sword, he notices that the fights around them have stopped. All of his crusader members, including the inquisitor himself, have stopped what they were doing to look at the duel. Even some of the demons stop fighting! He smiles an arrogant smile, and makes sure to show his gilded steel armor from its best angles, and presses his attack. However, he is sure not to underestimate his opponent, and is quick to take a step back when his assault is parried by the beast's machetes.

The demon now makes its own move, and starts with a low diagonal slash towards the knight's chest. He takes a quick and long step back, feeling exhilaration fill him as the machete barely misses his chestplate. However, the demon isn't quite finished yet, and raises its right machete to try and cut him in two diagonally. He parries the swing, and directs the huge weapon into the ground. But then the left machete comes for his exposed back. Instincts saving him, Dargarion spins on his heel, buries both feet into the ground, and uses both hands to block the weapon. He is briefly pushed back, before breaking contact and stepping away, fearing that he might stumble over the machete buried in the ground behind him. He steps out of the goat demon's reach, trying to resonate and understand the demon's strategy.

_It's most certainly aggressive. Likes to try and cut my entire body into pieces, and will most likely do so if it lands a hit. I can block one machete, but if it comes at me with both, I will either be sent flying or be buried into the ground if I block. I have to parry in that situation. _He notices the demon recovering. _Maybe I can bait it into using both its weapons, then try a parry, before closing the distance and quickly piercing its heart. I don't have more than a few seconds after said parry before it will recover and swipe for me again, so I will have to do it quickly. Its torso doesn't have a lot of armor though, so it should go swiftly. _

The demon makes a hiss-like snarl-sound, pulling him back into the situation. This time it chooses to attack without over-extending, which indicates that it has a somewhat strong understanding of how he fights as well. Instead of lifting both machetes for a powerful swing, it instead stabs for him with one of them. He directs it to the side with his sword, readying for a follow up with its left machete. But, instead of doing that, the demon pulls its right machete back, and swipes wide. He ducks this time, as he has no time to dart back. With another hiss-like snarl, it follows suit with a downward slash with its other machete. As Dargarion is still recovering from his duck in his heavy armor, he finds no choice but to try and roll to the side. As he leaps, he both hears and _feels _the monstrous weapon smash into the ground beside him, narrowly avoiding his curled-up form. Just as he stands up, the demon twists its entire body into a huge horizontal swing with its right machete, pulling its left hand back as it does.

Dargarion isn't sure if he can block such a swing, so he leaps toward the demon instead. The machete flies over his straightened back, while he points his sword out under his chest. He hopes to fly right into the demon's gut. However, the demon outsmarts him, and uses the momentum of its wide swing to take two steps, which causes it to move out of his path. As Dargarion recovers from his brief flight, the goat demon keeps its momentum going still, and directs its still moving right machete into a devastating downward slash. The weapon cuts through nothing but thin air before _smashing _into the dirt and grass below, certainly carving a ravine into the whole stretch of the world as it does?

Dargarion, however, is unscathed. He knew that if the demon was to try such a manoeuvre, it wouldn't have time to determine his position perfectly. Therefore, the result was that he landed safely about three inches from the impact of the sword. The goat had missed. Now it is his turn.

He starts by closing the distance, as always. The demon is unable to pull its sword back as quickly as it would prefer, and tries to swipe at him with its free machete. The sword misses blankly, and Dargarion sees his opening to put an end to the horrible demon. He draws his sword back, pointing it at the demon's face, and thrusts it forward. The goat ducks under it, but finds quickly that it was the knight's intention, as he quickly reels the weapon back and performs and upwards slash. The demon feels the weapon's dear inches from taking its life, and panics. It rises quicker than it should have, and loses balance. Dargarion notices that it manages to free its right machete, but it doesn't matter

The goat is dead to rights.

Dargarion swipes down, and the goat leaps back. He rapidly surges forward, and before it can even think, he thrusts forward at the demon's chest. It narrowly swipes the strike aside, and attempts to clumsily follow up with a swing. The swing lacks power, and Dargarion easily directs it right into the ground at his feet. He then tries to sever the goat's head. However, in a surprising move, the demon reels its head back, rises into full posture, and lifts its left arm, intending to maybe end the barraging Crusader with a final swing.

Inside, Dargarion finds respect for the demon's final attempt at taking him down. Never before had he seen an animal-like being like itself do something so human: fight on. Not give up. Fight for its values! That is more than he can say for most of the drunkards in some royal legions.

Intending to end the battle swiftly, rather than humiliate the beast, he directs the sword into the ground as if it was a real surprise to him, but quickly recovers and stabs the demon in the heart. It drops dead within seconds.

He raises his beak-shaped visor, and looks around at his troops. Demons are falling everywhere, and for every greataxe-wielding monstrosity that goes down, one more legion is celebrating. Dargarion simply looks down at the dead goat in front of him, offers one last nod of respect, before walking off to report to the Inquisitor.

He finds it so strange. How can he find more respect for a machete-wielding demon that tried to kill him, than his own wife that he murdered three years ago?


End file.
